Page 7 of What I Should Have Done

He said it. He voiced it.

Shit. I knew him. Sergeant Alex Reyes. From sniper school. The very one who coined the nickname. And somehow he was here.

“Hey Squib, wanna join me for some poker tonight?” he shouted again, silencing even more of the soldiers separating us.

I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Go fuck yourself!” I shouted back.

“Is that what you picture late at night, when you’re all alone?” He grinned, and one of the guys with him clapped him on the back.

Swallowing stiffly, I tore my eyes away from Alex, annoyed beyond hell, desperate for an escape, and nearly fell over. A zap raced up my spine at how close Blondie was standing next to me. The smell of his warm sweat hung in the air, a scent I wasn’t even sure what to call. In fact, it intrigued me, though I knew that eventually any hint of sweetness to it would disappear the longer we were out here. His piercing blue eyes, swirling like a frozen lake in the moonlight, stared directly at Alex.

“Who the hell is he calling ‘squib’?” he muttered, his brows creasing as he pulled them together.

Looking away from Blondie, my shoulders raised to my ears involuntarily, but I kept my mouth closed. My rage was not directed at him.

Okay, at least not all of it at this moment.

“And what the fuck does he mean by ‘squib’?” my new companion added.

Sighing, I closed my eyes. “You know? Like Damp Squib? Something that is disappointing because it is not as exciting or effective as expected?”

Blondie’s attention shifted to me without moving his body. His sharp eyes studied me for a moment, assessing me in a way that I didn’t understand, and then a smirk briefly crossed his face. “How do you two know each other?” he asked, either ignoring my explanation or agreeing with it.

I pulled my lips into a thin line. Of course he figured it out. Damn it.

“Sniper school.” I glanced at him through slitted lids. “And if you so much as say a word about that to anyone else, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Blondie faced me entirely and lifted a single, snarky brow.

“I can handle myself.” As I spun sideways, my chest nearly bumped into him, and a mischievous grin lifted on his lips.

“Oooo, you got me shaking in my boots.” He faked a shiver, and I rolled my eyes.

“You’re an ass. Leave me alone,” I grumbled and twisted away, scanning the crowd. Reyes and his buddies were gone.

A low chuckle left his chest. “There it is.”

Confused, I stitched my brows together. “What do you mean, there it is?”

“Surprised you’re not more mad considering my reaction from earlier. You’re welcome to call me any sort of name you’d like; ass ain’t that bad.”

“I’m not willing to sink as low as you,” I remarked with speed, looking back at him, and his eyes darkened with something I couldn’t place.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“You don’t know me either,” he answered in kind.

I studied him for a moment, allowing my gaze to track across every chiseled feature of this man who stood a little over six feet tall. Not the most muscular guy I’d ever come across, but still muscular, and they were hardened from use—very particular, specific use. He was athletic—built to be deadly.

“Mikey,” he said, breaking the silence. His name. An introduction that had me swimming in a pool of the unknown.

“Scottie,” I replied without much inflection.

“The colonel didn’t mention you were a girl.” Whatever smooth casualness had coated his friendly face a moment ago slipped away beneath a mask that seemed too calculating for me to be comfortable with. The hairs on my neck stood up, raising every wall possible. I wasn’t exactly sure what to make of him. Not yet anyway, and he didn’t seem to get me either.

Not that I cared. Right?

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